


Original Sin

by traitorminion



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, crystal is cooler than you, gold is a shady bar owner, mafia!au, maybe that last bit goes without saying, pokémon organ trafficking, silver's plans are terrible, with a slightly less shady reputation as a criminal mastermind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traitorminion/pseuds/traitorminion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Team Rocket there is a saying. It goes, "What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hatcher

**Author's Note:**

> Mafia!AU, characters are from the manga.
> 
> I am already regretting this, so, so much. For all of you who are not familiar with my posting schedules and terrible judgement: please don't expect regular updates, or you will be utterly disappointed.
> 
> I'm surprised nobody did this before, though. Fandom, you should seize such an opportunity!
> 
> For Lisa because she used to kiss me.

In Team Rocket there is a saying. It goes, "What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh."

Silver thinks this might be the only truthful thing the organization has ever taught him as he enters the outskirts of Viridian City after his third pokémon journey.

  

 

x

 

Two days later Giovanni dies in a shooting.

  

 

x

 

These are the facts: Giovanni is dead. Team Rocket needs a new boss. Silver is Giovanni's offspring, and, as such, his future offers no other prospects than to follow his father's footsteps as the leader of one of the largest syndicates in the pokémon mafia.

 

 

x

 

Silver inhales sharply and watches the casket disappear in a wave of white lilies.

(What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh.)

He is only nineteen.

 

 

x

 

In line to stereotypes, Giovanni's office is on the grim side of elegant, complete with broad leather armchairs and perpetually shut window blinds to keep the room in a continuing state of Godfather-esque semi-darkness.

Silver settles down in his father's old seat and rests his hands on the smooth mahogany desk. The contrast between his white fingers and the dark wood makes the back of his eyes burn.

In his peripheral vision, one of the team's four executives begins to move. Silver looks up. Archer is standing at the other side of the table, pushing his lips into a wiry smile.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you in your time of grieving," he says solemnly. There is a loose thread on the left sleeve of his uniform. Silver has to fight the compulsive urge to pull at it. "Now that the great Giovanni has passed — may his soul  _forever_  rest in peace — someone else must take his place."

"I know," Silver says. He is familiar with the rules. Survival of the Fittest, no time to worry about the past and all that.

"Indeed", says Archer, his smile stretching even wider. "Then I'm sure you also know that Team Rocket tradition expects the candidate for leading position to fulfill a mission on their own as initiation?"

Silver squares his shoulders, which has to look ridiculous in the massive frame of his father's chair. "I know," he says again.

  

 

x

 

In Viridian's pulsing hipster heart, The Hatcher nestles in between coffee shops and narrow apartment buildings, fashionably outdated and probably a little pretentious like the city itself. Gold remembers discovering the place a few years back and instantly falling in love with its ridiculously cliché Kanto pub atmosphere, all brick walls and distorting sepia windows. Originally, he'd only been passing through with the plan to challenge the local gym leader and chase one or two skirts before moving on, but ended up staying as the apprentice of the former bar owner (who died recently in questionable circumstances involving green hair dye and slowpoke tails, rendering Gold the new proprietor of the establishment).

He's justifiably surprised when, on a chilly September afternoon, some barely legal redhead steps inside, intense-eyed and edgy-looking to the point of being fascinating to Gold. He doesn't remember seeing him around before. Someone like that would have been hard to forget in this part of town. Even among the hipsters. Especially among the hipsters.

"Yo," he says by way of greeting, putting on his best salesman smile. "Wanna be my new barmaid? My old one ran out on me last week and you've got just the right—"

"Are you serious?" The redhead looks at him as though he can't believe this is happening to him. Gold can relate.

"Only if you want me to be, Little Red," he says after a second of silent wonder and blows the boy a kiss, for good measure.

Short, Dark and Redheaded scowls, and it's all Gold can do not to break into a manic grin.

" _You're_  the one they were talking about? Who purportedly is spoiling all our trades?"

It takes Gold a moment to process the questions' implications, and then the redhead's identity unfolds before him like a fast-forwarded jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces snapping into place.

"So you're from Team Rocket, huh?" Peering more closely at the guy, broody and wrought-up, he can't help questioning the organization's recruiting program a little. "And what's that supposed to mean, 'purportedly'? Of course I'm spoiling all your trades. In international pokémon organ trafficking ranks, you're maybe in 20th place. It's not exactly your strong point."

At that the redhead makes a bitchy face and says, "There is no such thing as, 'international pokémon organ trafficking ranks.'"

"So I made that up," Gold says, shrugging ornately. "Your goods are still nothing short of pure golden crap."

Then, to Gold's surprise, the boy scoffs, "We're the mafia. What do you want us to do, give a money-back guarantee in case someone's not satisfied?"

 _Well, how about_ that, Gold thinks distractedly and smirks.

"Why don't you just let me take over that branch while you focus on something you're actually good at? Like losing your leading figures for example?"

The Rocket's face almost reflexively twists into something sharp, all bickering instantly forgotten. "You just  _love_  to hear yourself talk, don't you?" he snarls. "Well, have I got some news for you. Not everyone is a fan of your oh so clever jokes,  _Gold_."

Gold understands it's supposed to come to him as a shock that he knows his name, but if they've found out he's stealing their customers, it seems rather consequential.

"At least I have more manners than you," he sniffs dramatically. "Knowing the other's name without introducing yourself is the apex of impoliteness, you know. Didn't your mother teach you better than that?"

"My mother is dead."

Gold blinks. The boy must be fun at parties.

"That's rough," Gold agrees. "Won't make me withdraw from trade, though."

"You think you can really meddle with Team Rocket's business just like that?" The redhead looks hilariously furious.

"Honestly?" Gold is enjoying this way more than he should. "Yeah, I do."

"I'll put an end to this," he declares, anger flashing into sullen confidence.

"Oh?" Gold shakes his head in amusement because because that's about as absurd as it gets. He won't complain, though. Kid is providing him with more entertainment than he's had in weeks. "What are you gonna do, glare me to death?" 

"Fuck you," the boy spits and pulls out a poké ball.

"A pokémon battle? Seriously?" Gold sighs, a little disappointed. "You're kind of bad at this, aren't you?"

The redhead pauses, suddenly unsure, like this isn't something he's never thought himself. "What do you mean?"

"This isn't a game. We are both actual criminals. Well, at least I am. So yeah, I'm not going to strike out at you with a pokémon. I have guns for that." The redhead looks thoroughly unimpressed. Gold groans. "No, you don't understand. By 'guns' I don't mean, like, revolvers. I'm not stupid. I'm talking rocket launchers here. Bazookas. Your team would be down in an instant. Probably even dead. You don't look like someone who wants that."

The boy grimaces, lowering the hand with the poké ball in it.

Gold smiles and almost feels a little bad for him. Almost. "Arceus, who was in charge of your training? Are you even a real Rocket?"

The boy looks like he's ready to hiss at him any moment now, like a cornered skitty or something. It's actually kind of cute. You know, in a deranged, ludicrous sort of way.

"So," Gold says, propping his elbows on the bar counter. "What's your name?"

The redhead goes still, like a spring about to uncoil. "I'm not telling you."

"Too bad then," Gold says good-naturedly. "Is that all? Do you want a drink maybe, before you run home to Daddy? Or is he dead, too?"

The kid's nose scrunches up in disgust or newly rekindled rage, Gold isn't sure.

"Yes."

Awkward.

"Oh, um, sorry for your loss?" Gold tries half-heartedly.

The boy turns toward the door. "Someone has to be," he says, and then he's gone.

Talk about dramatic exits. 

 

 

x

 

Silver takes a room in a hotel not too far from the bar, wannabe-posh and trying a bit too hard but with agreeable prices. He contemplated going to the nearest pokémon center and immediately reconsidered, deciding that the risk of being discovered as part of the mafia would be too high, in light of the distinct lack of privacy in comparison. Besides, as of today, he is no longer a pokémon trainer. He doesn't belong anywhere near a poké center anymore.

Sitting down on the small bed, he evaluates his situation once more. There are two possibilities: accept defeat and resign from his job, leaving Archer and his goons at the top of the organization and Silver himself on the run for the foreseeable future, or go back to The Hatcher and get rid of Gold, who is not only more experienced than him but also annoying as all get-out, apparently.

Silver slumps back onto the mattress and closes his eyes.

(What is bred in the bone …)

He has already stacked up too many failures on his shoulders to fall through again.

 

 

 

 

 

x

 

"I had a feeling you'd be back," Gold says happily as the redhead comes through the door the next day, determined and inexplicably tired.

Without preamble he announces, "I want to hire you." Gold has to admit he is somewhat taken aback by this turn of events.

"Excuse me?"

"I weighed my options," the redhead answers matter-of-factly. "Confronting you openly would end in a disaster for me — for obvious reasons. Killing you in your sleep appears more likely to be successful, though I highly doubt that you go to bed without protection, which leaves me at a point where I can only go back to the headquarters and report my failure or hire you so you are no longer in our way."

Yeah, Gold isn't buying it. He knew something was off when he saw the guy's staggering shortcomings in criminal knowledge yesterday, but this, this is  _a whole new world_ of stupidity. For example, why is he doing this alone? Anyone halfway sane would get help, along with one or two Kalashnikovs, and nuke the place. The kid doesn't look dumb enough not to think of that, so what's his deal?

"You're not very good at lying," Gold says, gleefully watching the boy's poise deflate on the spot.

"I'm not lying," the redhead says defensively. "I do want to hire you."

Gold raises an eyebrow. "You really give up that easily?"

The redhead's face turns bitter, and he says, "Believe me, I am doing everything but."

Okay, this conversation has officially stopped making any sense.

"You are full of shit," Gold says pointedly. (There is a joke in there, somewhere.) "And that is why I am now kicking you out. Come back when you've laid off the cryptic one-liners. So, get lost, scoot, shoo."

"Who are you talking to?"

Gold whips around to see Crystal emerging from behind the bar.

"Uh, remember the Rocket I mentioned earlier? That's him."

A ghost of remembrance skirrs over her face. "Is he still trying to drive you out of business?"

Gold looks back at the redhead, who is glowering at both of them. "Not exactly. He wants me to join the team."

Crystal snorts. "Good luck with that, kid," she says and disappears again, clearly deeming herself above such trivial matters.

"You do have a barmaid," the boy accuses when she's gone.

Gold stares at him blankly before bursting into a fit of violent laughter. "Mew," he pants in between giggles. "You are killing me, Little Red."

"I wish," mutters Little Red darkly, which just makes Gold crack up harder until he's practically rolling on the floor. Once he's calmed down, he realizes that the boy has left. Just as well. He'll probably be back tomorrow with another fantastically idiotic plan, anyway. 

 

 

x

 

Silver wakes up that night to faint scratching noises just from the other side of the door.

Gripping the poké balls beneath his pillow, he listens to what sounds like someone trying to break into his room as quietly as possible. His heart starts thundering against his ribcage. He suspected something like this might happen, but he didn't expect it so soon.

He takes in a deep breath and slips out of bed. From the nightstand he grabs his backpack, shoves a pair of jeans inside it as well as all of his poké balls except the one in his hand, and slings it over his shoulder. Behind him the grating is getting louder. Hastily he fumbles the window open, and a gust of piercing cold hits his face. Suppressing a cough, he climbs onto the windowsill and releases his honchkrow.

"We need to get away from here," he whispers frantically. Across the room something cracks. " _Now_."

He hops onto the pokémon, glancing back to see Archer and a few grunts storming toward the open window as he takes off into the stinging air of the night. 

 

 

x

 

At three in the morning, a hammering sound rips Gold from his sleep. Bolting upright, his bleary eyes see something vaguely human-shaped knock on his window. He briefly ponders the statistic likelihood of successfully ignoring … whatever is happening until it goes away, sighs and shuffles out of bed to open the window.

"Hide me," hisses the person beyond.

It's the redhead.

Gold stares.

" _Hurry_ ," the boy says, eyes worryingly huge. His hair has been tousled by the wind, and his cheeks are a stark red from the cold outside. He's breathing hard.

"What the fuck," Gold says.

"I promise I'll explain if you let me inside," the redhead says, rushed — almost panicking —,  _and wow, this is seriously weird_.

"Okay," Gold says warily but guesses if this turns out to be some kind of trick, he can always shoot the kid. He doesn't wear XXL-boxers for nothing.

He closes the window and flops down on his bed, the mattress groaning in slight protest. The boy stands in the middle of the room, still and tense, as though he's waiting for something huge and conclusive to strike, like some fucked-up, divine verdict, which, hello, drama much?

"So," Gold says. "I'm waiting."

"I need your help," the boy finally bites out, and Gold belatedly realizes that he's barefoot and dressed way too lightly.

He clears his throat. "Yeah, not that I'm surprised that you need help — no offense, though you didn't exactly impress me with your planning skills —, but a tad more information on this general situation would be  _smashing_."

The redhead looks down. "You know that Giovanni — Team Rocket's boss — died, right?" Gold nods, wondering what this has to do with anything. "I'm his heir."

Gold chokes.

The boy clenches his fists.

The moment stretches.

"Heir?" Gold says eventually. "Like, uh, like his  _son_?"

" _No, like his cactus_ ," the boy snaps and clicks his tongue, exasperated.

Gold would have laughed at this abrupt and truly unversed attempt at snark, but he's seen the haunted look in the boy's eyes, and he's not  _that_  much of an asshole, not really.

"Watch your temper, Little Red,  _you_ 're the one asking  _me_  for help," he warns because, frankly, he doesn't do soothing. They're both professional felons, or at least they're supposed to be. Anyway, he still isn't convinced the guy's story is genuine.

"My name is Silver," the boy retorts but relaxes his stance to a marginally more casual approach. "Not 'Little Red.'"

Now Gold does laugh. "Arceus, this is like something out of a bad movie. Or some kind of cosmic joke."

Silver's expression tightens. "I don't see how this is at all funny."

"Come on, me — the sassy, independent womanizer — and you — the angsty mafia prince, coming through my window in the middle of the night and begging me for help? Add the horribly cliché opposite trope of our names and tell me this is not a cheesy, borderline homoerotic adventure novel waiting to happen."

Silver gapes as though he can't decide what part of Gold's speech to be offended at most. "I did not beg," he says. "And if you're not going to take this seriously, I'm leaving."

Fighting off another onslaught of laughter, Gold straightens himself and says, "Well, then. Get to the point already, so I can mock you some more and go back to bed."

"I would maul you just for that comment if I had anywhere else to turn to," Silver says, which is, all in all, a pretty dumb move because now that Gold is aware of how desperate he is, he could basically milk him for millions in return. Not that he's going to. Going for easy prey like that would be a disgrace to his reputation as a gentleman. Also, the kid is probably the most endearing brand of pathetic he's ever come across.


	2. The Catcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my Arceus,” Crystal says, grinning manically. “You like him.”
> 
> And then everything goes to shit _because she’s right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope nobody is expecting anything grand from me at this point. I mean, when was the last time I wrote something that had an actual plot? Still, feel free to pelt me with rocks as you see fit.
> 
> With any luck I'll be able to wrap this up before Christmas, but don't hold your breath.

“So, what’s gotten your poké balls in such disarray?”

Silver squints at him in confusion. “What?”

Gold shakes his head, snickering, because _this guy_ , seriously.

“ _I mean_ ,” he enunciates carefully. “What happened to you? Why are you so distraught? Well, apart from the fact that your father is the godfather of Team Rocket and also dead.” In retrospect, that may have been a little insensitive.

Silver tautens instinctively, and he says, “I’m not distraught.”

Gold pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, we need to talk. You probably think all this defensiveness and austerity is super cute or something, but let me tell you, it’s getting kind of old, and I’ve only met you like two days ago.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Silver says and looks at Gold as though _he’s_ the crazy person.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Gold groans, nerves shot. He would have chosen a more eloquent manner of retaliation had it not been half past three in the morning. “Just. Tell me what’s going on.”

Silver inhales deeply, and his face becomes very dramatic. Gold half-expects violins to start playing.

“There’s this —” He stops, and his eyes go big like he’s just now figured out how insane this whole setup is. He bites his lip and soldiers on, anyway. “In Team Rocket there’s this rule: the successor of the organization has to complete a job on their own, or they can’t become the leader. Kind of like an initiation rite —”

“I’m your job,” Gold cuts him off, and suddenly all of this makes a lot more sense.

“Yes,” Silver says. “But it’s only that easy in theory. With every new generation, there is always someone who’s trying to revolt and become the boss themselves.”

“So what, some thugs signed me up as your initiation mission, figuring you’d fuck up, which you did so far, by the way, but when you refused to go back and admit to your loss, they sent an assassination squad to putsch you out of their way?” Credit where credit is due, Gold does not laugh. Much. In his defense, this is some serious _Law & Order_ bullshit right there.

Silver works his jaw. “Are you going to help me or not?” he asks impatiently.

Gold huffs. “What am I supposed to do? Break into the team’s HQ and snipe everyone who opposes you? I’m not a superhero, Silver. I’m not even an anti-hero. I’m no hero at all. I just do what I have to in order to survive.”

“Fine,” says Silver, disconcertingly calm. “If you help me, I’ll leave you and your trades alone, and you can do whatever you want. Deal?”

Gold’s face lights up like the local strip club had just extended its business to 24 hours a day. “You _do_ know how to bargain,” he marvels, just a tiny bit condescending. “Too bad the costs still outweigh the reward. I’d risk my life helping you go against Team Rocket’s executives. If you want to bait me, you have to do a little better than that.”

It’s then something in Silver snaps.

“Why is everything a fucking game to you? Do you get off on playing with people and getting them to do what you want? Is that it?”

Gold sighs. “Are we really doing this black and white crap? Because I’ve about had it with your judgment of my life choices. As much as I sympathize with you, I can’t save every damsel in distress that walks into my bar, especially when saving them puts me in mortal danger.” As an afterthought, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if the situation were reversed.”

Silver looks like he just took a punch to the gut. “What do you want?” he says, voice tight.

Gold hesitates. No matter if the kid’s lying or not, his despair is real. “ _Lugia_ , you really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“How should I?” Silver shouts, loud and hoarse. He looks as though whatever has been holding him together up until now is about to tear apart. “I come back from Johto, and suddenly my father gets shot, and everyone wants me _dead_! So no, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

It’s a veritable feat to make Gold feel like an absolute dick within 30 seconds, but Silver’s got it down to an art. (Crystal would laugh her ass off about that, Gold thinks absentmindedly.)

“You’ve never done this before?” he says, hesitant. “No raids, no smuggling, no mugging? Nothing?”

“I was a pokémon trainer,” he replies frostily.

“Oh”, breathes Gold, and that’s all either of them says for a while.

While Silver appears to be perfecting his Glare of Doom, Gold wrecks his brain figuring out what to do next. Because he has to do _something_. Silver has robbed him of any opportunity to bullshit himself out of this. (Another skill Crystal would probably find hysterical.)

“I guess I can help you,” he settles on saying, attempting to sound casually haughty. "For now."

“Good,” Silver says.

“Because I pity you,” Gold adds.

“Okay,” Silver says.

“Also I want money.”

Silver crosses his arms over his chest. “Whatever.”

“And protection from rivaling groups.”

“Don’t push it,” Silver threatens, but it lacks pathos.

Gold glances at the clock. It’s a quarter to four.

“Let’s go to bed,” he proposes, bends forward and stretches lazily. “We can discuss the details tomorrow.”

Silver scrutinizes him. “Do you mean it?” he asks.

Gold wonders about that, too. “Sure,” he replies easily, but the intensity of Silver’s eyes strangles the syllable a little.

Appeased, Silver’s posture loosens a bit. Without the scowl and worry carved into his face, he looks startlingly young. Gold thinks about how it must be to completely change who you are like this, from one second to the next. What kind of person Silver was before his heritage had forced him into this game of death, lies and horribly designed uniforms. How he would have reacted if he’d met Gold then and not now.

“Do you have a couch?”

“What?” says Gold, dazed. “Oh, uh, of course. Do you … I — I’ll get you a blanket.”

Silver watches quizzically as Gold hurries out of the room.

   

 x

 

“You’re keeping him?” Crystal’s voice is high with incredulity. To her credit, this whole thing _is_ kind of crazy. Not to mention borderline suicidal, regarding what they're up against.

“Don't make it sound like he's my pet,” Gold protests weakly.

Crystal looks doubtful. “Why are you doing this?”

“I —“ Gold licks his lips. “I’m sort of out of options.”

“So you fucked him,” Crystal concludes and starts cackling. “Does he think you’re _boyfriends_ now?”

“What,” Gold chokes and clears his throat. “No. No, I did not fuck him. Why would I do that?”

Crystal gives him a flat look, not even bothering to dignify that with a response.

Gold scoffs. “Have you looked at him? He’s like this giant jumble of neuroses, angst and ridiculous hair. He’s not even _remotely_ within my sphere of interest.”

“Oh my Arceus.” Crystal grins at him manically. “You like him.”

And then everything goes to shit _because she’s right_.

 

  x

  

Okay, so. Maybe he can sweat this out, like a really bad, preposterous fever. He’ll screw Silver, get the whole thing out of his system and move on. After all, Silver is just some scrawny, angry teenager with a stupidly tragic backstory and terrible judgment and an intoxicating disposition to push all of Gold’s buttons (the wrong and the right ones). 

Silver's face flashes in front of his mind's eye, scared, proud, alone. 

Gold is so fucked.

 

 x

 

Approximately one hour after the emergence of Gold’s emotional crisis, Silver, the involuntary (and unknowing) initiator of said crisis, enters the kitchen where Gold is currently trying his best not to imagine all the things he’d like to do to Silver’s sleep-soft face.

“Coffee?” Silver mumbles, bleary-eyed.

Grateful for the distraction, Gold gets up to brew him a cup. “Sleep well?” he asks as he reaches into the top drawer for one of the better mugs.

“Grngnh,” Silver says and subsides into the nearest chair.

Well, apparently there is _one_ thing they have in common.

 

 x

 

“What are we going to do now? Any big plans?” Gold says at Silver’s second helping of caffeinated goodness.

Silver’s expression hardens. (Gold is tempted to dub it his war face.) “We have no choice but to make the next move and attack before Archer finds out where I am.”

“Attack?” Gold repeats. “ _Directly_?”

Silver shoots him a sour look, and that really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. “Do you have a better idea, Mr. Criminal Mastermind?”

“Isn’t there a way to get to Archer _without_ throwing ourselves at hundreds of well-armed, hostile gangsters?” Gold says, rolling his eyes at how Silver’s mouth snaps into a tight line.

“We would need uniforms and IDs to disguise ourselves and get inside the HQ,” Silver answers icily, trying to gloss over his wounded pride with extra contempt.

Gold leans back in his chair, unimpressed. “I’ll ask Crystal to take care of that later. In the meantime, you can draw me a rough plan of the building.”

“Crystal?” Silver asks, skeptic. “I thought she was just the barmaid.”

Gold laughs, ruffles Silver’s hair, mostly to placate his obscene, nagging need to touch him, and uses the ensuing tirade to steal the rest of Silver’s coffee.

 

 x

 

The two spend the remainder of the day crouching over a large scroll of paper on which Silver reconstructs most of his knowledge about the HQ. His personality is still as refreshing as it has been during their previous encounters. However Gold prods him, he always reacts in ways Gold could never have predicted even in his wildest dreams. In fact, as the hours roll by, the conclusion that all of this must be some kind of dream or wish-fulfilling fantasy seems more and more plausible. Someone who fits all of his points of interest so perfectly just can't show up like this one day. The longer he thinks about it, the less logic he can derive from any of it.

At one point around noon, Crystal pops in to see what they’re doing and receives the task to find uniforms and IDs for their mission, which she grudgingly — and with a few jabs at Gold’s "exceptional incompetence and laziness" — accepts. Silver stares after her with a strange expression on his face.

"How did you two meet?" he asks Gold.

"We grew up together." Gold massages his neck to drive out some of the tension from staying in one position for too long. "As creepy as it sounds, I don't really remember a time I haven't known her."

Silver nods seriously and bends forward again to continue where he left off.

It’s nearly dusk when they've finished mapping all the secret passages and mechanisms that, Gold is convinced, Giovanni probably only installed to fuck with his subordinates.

“Wow,” he says breathily, staring at their handiwork. “This thing is kind of a bitch.”

“You don’t say,” Silver says and chuckles, though more at his weaville, who's been napping at his feet.

It’s an earthy, melodic sound that Gold wants to lock away in a place where only he can listen to it. This thought doesn’t startle him as much as he would be comfortable with.

“Hey,” he says haphazardly, voice strained. “How about dinner? I’m starving.”

“Good idea,” Silver says eagerly, shifts a bit and accidentally bumps into Gold. Gold flinches at the hot tingles the thouch ignites inside him and makes a beeline for the kitchen, almost knocking over one of Crystal’s numerous pictures of her and her pokémon.

Silver yells after him, but the words parse as garbled nonsense through the blood pounding in Gold’s ears.

  

 x

 

Crystal isn’t back by the time Gold has successfully managed to fix something with the scarce leftovers that have survived his rogue appetite and Crystal’s midnight raids, so he doesn’t bother to set the proper dining table. As much as he wants to bend Silver over it, the prospect of that actually happening is too low to go through the effort. Thus, he lays the necessities on the kitchen table and calls for Silver, who’s been holed up in the living room, making faces at the floor.

Dinner is a quiet affair as Gold is basically hiding in his plate and Silver is purposefully ignoring Gold’s very existence.

Maybe he shouldn’t have run off like that, Gold muses later while gathering the dishes. Still in thought, he turns around to put the pile into the dishwasher, promptly bumping into Silver, and drops everything. He curses and perches down to clean up the mess. He doesn’t register that Silver has done the same until their hands touch, trying to pick up the same piece of dirty porcelain. Gold winces and pulls away. Silver’s hand was warm and paradoxically familiar, not at all how he expected it to be.

“What the hell is your problem,” Silver growls, gaze glued to Gold’s hand. “Why are you suddenly acting like I have the plague?”

In that moment Crystal bursts into the room, from the shoulder downward covered in blood.


	3. The Exchanger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the part where it's all going to blow up in his face, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was going to finish this before Christmas, and I will! I never specified which Christmas it was going to be. Seriously though, I'm sorry this is late and rushed, but I meant well?
> 
> PS: I know nothing about blood transfusions, and it probably shows.

People have no choice but to be born. They have no control over it. Instead they need to make do with what they get in order to become something that was always in their design but never in their hands. No one taught Silver this quite like his father.

"You need to fight fire with fire," he told Silver once, watching his empire of ashes and broken futures devour everything around it; standing tall and rigid and pitch-black.

"I understand," Silver answered, and meant, "I'm afraid to be your fire."

Meant, "You're the bone and I'm the flesh, but I'll gnaw myself off you if I have to."

 

x

 

Giovanni's death is a fast burn licking at the hollow places in the back of Silver's throat, filling his mouth with the sour fumes of rotten promises.

Grief.

What a joke.

 

x

 

"C-Crys," Gold stutters, voice cracking at the seams. "What happened? Do you — I'll get the first aid kit." He heads for the door, halts in the frame and turns around, hard and tense — a cocked gun ready to blow. "Silver, watch her while I'm gone and see that she doesn't lose too much blood."

With that he's gone.

Meanwhile, Crystal has sunk down on the floor, clutching the right side of her torso with her good —  _better_  hand. Silver sits down beside her and stares helplessly at the terrifying amounts of blood drenching her clothes.

"Um, I-I," he stammers, close to short-circuiting. "What do I —"

"My stomach," Crystal grinds out. "The biggest wound is on my stomach. Here on the right. Help me press down on it."

Silver does as he's told. He's hesitant at first, brushing over the soaked fabric of her shirt, but then she pushes his hand down with hers. She recoils at the pain of the compression, her face distorts horribly, and Silver has no idea how to make it better, but he doesn't let go. He's been useless for so long, inexperienced and scared and locked in his own cage of ignorance and blame. He's sick of the looks he gets when he walks through the endless corridors of the HQ his father built once upon a heritage, the whispers and the taunts,  _are you sure that's him, he doesn't look like the boss at all, oh, what a terrible shame_.

(What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh, what is —)

He will not be the extension of his father's construction of a regnum. He will not be the shadow of a man who abandoned his humanity for the thrill of a game. He will not let this girl die.

For another agonizing minute, Silver keeps holding her (or maybe Crystal is really holding him). Then Gold is back, all stormy movement and ragged breath, and starts the treatment.

"Keep her still," he says, pouring disinfectant onto a sterilized cloth from a first aid box.

Silver obeys and takes ahold of Crystal's arms.

"Okay, Crys," Gold says with a constricted smirk. "This'll sting a bit."

Crystal barks staccato huffs of laughter. "Oh, please, you're a bigger pain in the ass than this scratch could ever be."

"Macho girl," Gold teases, but his smile is gone.

 

x

 

As promised, Crystal takes the cleaning of her wounds with an astonishing amount of bravado, not even so much as hissing whenever the cloth touches her flesh and broken skin. Silver admires her composure although he doesn't quite understand what she's even trying to prove with it, or why.

After exhausting ten minutes, Gold puts the cloth aside and starts bandaging her stomach.

"Shouldn't you have done this from the start?" Silver asks, wrecking his mind to recall anything he learned about first aid once.

"Idiot," says Gold, not looking up. "I know she's lost a lot of blood, but we can't risk an infection. I already called up a friend to bring us some blood transfusions, he should be here in an hour or two, so shut up and don't distract me."

"We know what we're doing," Crystal adds, smiling weakly up at Silver. "It's not the first time, don't worry."

Silver has no choice but to nod and keep watching the two of them because that's all he can do, and they're the ones calling the shots, anyway — or in Crystal's case, taking them.

 

x

 

The ensuing hour is one of the longest in Silver's life. Crystal keeps bleeding, and Gold keeps staring at the floor, head between his knees, unblinking. Nobody speaks.

It's close to eight when someone knocks at the back door of the bar. Gold shoots up and down the stairs. Silver hears muffled voices, followed by heavy footsteps. Gold enters the room backwards, carrying a large white box together with a tall pink-haired man Silver could swear he has seen before. They set the box down next to Crystal, who's smiling at them both, strained but still stable.

The pink-haired stranger opens the box and starts fumbling with needles and tubes.

"Can't you go a little faster?" Gold asks, eyes flitting back and forth between him and Crystal.

The man clicks his tongue, not looking up from his ministrations. "If you want me to do a decent job, then quit yapping," he says, irritated. "How did this even happen? Did you try to export fake poké balls again? I told you that would get you in trouble sooner or later. I can't believe Crys still puts up with you."

"Shut up," Gold snaps, eyes red and large. "If you want to blame somebody, blame  _him_."

"'Him'?" He glances up, notices Silver and casts Gold a puzzled look. "Who's he? Did he do this to her?"

"He's Giovanni's son," Gold says. "He asked us to help him with Team Rocket now that his father is dead."

"Ah." The man nods as if that's a perfectly sensible explanation, shrugs and goes back to his work. "Shove over and let me do this."

Gold complies. The man inches closer to Crystal, sprays antiseptic on the crook of her left arm and presses the needle with the cannula he's been preparing into the vein there, letting the blood flow from the transfusion into her body.

"Is she going to get better?" Silver asks and regrets it instantly.

Gold glares at him. The man gives him a measuring but otherwise neutral look.

"Probably, yeah," he says, and suddenly Silver remembers why he recognizes him.

"You look like Nurse Joy," he blurts out.

The man stares at him dumbly. Behind him Crystal huffs a quiet laugh through her nose. "Yes, I do," the man agrees, still baffled. "I didn't think you'd notice it on your own."

"Huh?"

"Most people don't. I'm the only male nurse in our family right now, and I work at a hospital, not a pokémon center."

"I probably shouldn't ask if what you're doing here is even legal," Silver muses out loud, eying the white box warily.

The man,  _Nurse Joy_ , snorts. "You're the heir to a mafia syndicate, your very existence scratches at the borders of legality. Besides, I owe these two a favor."

"Damn right you do," Gold cuts in.

"Be quiet, all of you," Crystal groans, regaining a marginally more human complexion. "You're giving me a headache."

 

x

 

"Let her sleep, then give her two of these and two hours later some antibiotics. I'll check up on her again sometime tomorrow, " Joy says and takes his leave.

Once he's closed the door, Gold lets out a heavy sigh and shuffles toward the stairs. Silver sympathizes with him, he's just as drained, but there's still something he has to do.

"I'm sorry," he says, stopping Gold midway.

Gold's shoulders tense. "Can it."

"No." Silver steps forward out of the foyer into the shadows of the corridor. "No, I won't. I'm sorry for what happened, and I want to thank you for what you and Crystal have done for me. That's why I want us to get along, if you want to keep working with me. If you want me to leave because of what happened, that's fine, I just — I just wanted to say this."

Laughing voicelessly, Gold turns around. "What made you grow a backbone all of a sudden, Little Red?" The darkness of the unlit hall makes him look a lot younger than he really is. Younger, and more real. More human.

"It's Silver," Silver says out of habit.

"I know," Gold says, done in. He trots over to Silver, lingering just in front of him, and rests his forehead on Silver's left shoulder. Silver thinks he might be crying. "I know."

 

x

 

They put up a makeshift bed in Crystal's room so they can stay with her during the night. Silver slumps down on it first, bone-tired. When Gold joins him after checking up on Crystal one last time, he doesn't even manage to procure the willpower to complain that Gold is too close, sliding next to him seemingly without a second thought, one piece of human shrapnel cutting against the other.

Before falling asleep, Silver can't help but wonder what will happen to him now, what will happen to  _them_ , but Gold is warm and impossibly familiar next to him, and—

His train of thought is gone.

 

x

 

When he wakes up, Gold feels like shit. His head pounds with the gruesome images of the previous evening, and he feels so tired he might as well not have slept at all. Beside him lies Silver, curled up into himself. Gold studies him for a quiet moment and allows himself the luxury of imagining how this could have unfolded if things had been good, or better at least.

He would have gone after Silver properly. They would have had time. They would have gotten to know each other on their own pace. There would have been countless mornings like this, just him, Silver and the yellow sunlight spilling down onto them through the gaps between the curtains.

 

x

 

"Are you  _insane_?"

"I must be since I'm working with you," Crystal says point-blank, like it's not even a joke. She looks better than yesterday, if somewhat small and squished together in the cave of pillows and blankets Gold and Silver built around her.

"No," Gold says as if that's a proper argument.

"'No'?" Crystal repeats, voice rising. Silver shrinks back in his seat next to her. "You want to lock me up in here? Is that what you're saying?"

Gold grips his knees in a visible attempt to hold himself back. "If it's going to keep you from  _killing yourself_ , then yes."

Exasperated, Crystal groans. Silver imagines she would have thrown up her hands for emphasis if she had been able to. "I am  _not_  killing myself. Lugia, you're such a baby."

"Oh, yes!" Gold snaps and nearly falls off his chair. "Overturning a mafia army while mortally wounded sounds like an awesome and  _not in any way_   _inane_  idea!"

Crystal gnashes her teeth. "Then what do you suggest we do, o glorious Gold?"

Gold doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, "You're out of your mind."

"And what about him?" She jerks her head in Silver's direction.

Silence.

Silver straightens in his seat. "It's okay," he says with as much authority as he can with two riled-up professional criminals in front of him. "You don't have to do anything else. It's my fault you got hurt. I don't want either of you to put your life at stake for me anymore. I mean, even if you wanted to, we can't just go on with the mission as planned, the way things are now."

"It's really unfair that  _you_ 're going to inherit Team Rocket." Gold rasps an empty laugh and buries his face in his hands. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about, Little Red."

"My name's not —" Silver stops himself, perplexed. A shudder pierces his guts, freezing him from the inside out. "What do you mean?"

Face still hidden, Gold seems disinclined to answer. Silver moves on to look at Crystal.

She drags in a deep breath. "It's — nice of you to say that you no longer want to endanger us, but it isn't just about that anymore. Do you think Team Rocket will just let it go that someone broke into one of their offices and tried to steal valuable information? It's not a matter of  _us_  attacking  _them_  now."

She exhales. Silver marvels at her ability to do that; to just  _breathe_  when she's injured and maybe about to die. It requires his full strength to push even an  _ounce_  of oxygen into his lungs.

"In fact," she concludes, "it's astounding they haven't shown up already. I wonder what they're waiting for."

Gold looks up. "That one's easy," he says. "They're searching for Giovanni Jr. over here. Though I'm kind of disappointed they haven't made the connection between him and the break-in yet."

"Maybe they believe you merely wanted to get to them while they were still vulnerable, without someone leading them and all."

Gold's lip twitch. Silver feels his chest warm up again. "As fun as that would be, I doubt they'd think us reckless enough. Not that we couldn't do some proper damage, but their ego is kind of delusional like that."

"Also," Crystal says wryly, "it wouldn't be worth the following gang war."

"Which we have to face anyway," Gold says, not unhappily.

Silver is glad the mood has gone from sullen to grimly optimistic, but that's not actually going to help them.

"We're going to protect you," he tells Crystal, determined.

Crystal  _squeaks_  with laughter. "You want to protect me? Darling, you better protect yourself. Remember, you're a bigger catch to them than me. Besides, I won't just sit here and watch you boys trip over your own feet while you try to work a gun."

Gold winces. "Crystal —"

"Oh, not this again." She looks at him, at them both, and Silver can see why Gold wants her safe so desperately. She's amazing in the purest sense of the word. With only the blink of an eye, she's able to inspire hope in Silver — something he always avoided. For him, hope embodies the worst pain he knows, but she makes it look like a good thing. She makes him feel like he's someone worth keeping. Someone worth fighting for. "I will not be the damsel in distress, Gold, and you know that. I may not be at my best, but I'll be able to stay alive on my own,  _thank you very much_."

Gold sighs, which only appears to tense him up more. "I guess we should start strategizing then, or we won't have any gifts ready for our guests."

 

x

 

They decide to set up a provisory camp in Crystal's room. While she works out a timetable for guard duty, Silver and Gold haul The Hatcher's entire arsenal of weapons upstairs and position it in an easily accessible manner without being in the way. Then Gold decides it's time for dinner.

For the first time in his life, Silver regrets that he has never had to be in charge of household chores as he makes the clumsy attempt to peel some potatoes. Gold almost chokes on his own laughter. As it turns out, he has a special knack for cooking, and he does not pass up a single opportunity to rub it in Silver's face. He can't really muster up the energy to be angry with him, though. If anything, he's happy that they're back to this dynamic and Gold can crack jokes again, even when they're at his expense. Faintly, he wonders what that implies about himself.

"You're even more of a spoiled brat than I feared," Gold snickers for what Silver estimates is the fifteenth time already, cutting the peeled potatoes because he said he doesn't trust Silver with knives (which is stupid because potato peelers have blades, too).

Before Silver can retort anything, a loud bang at the backdoor resounds through the house. Gold cocks his head meaningfully, and Silver understands. They rush into Crystal's room to get each of themselves a gun.

"Someone's at the door," Gold explains on their way out. "Stay up here."

"Ugh," Crystal says, but she's nodding.

Gold motions Silver to be quiet and leads the way downstairs, gun unlocked. It knocks again, even louder this time.

"Mew damn it," a familiar voice hollers from outside. It's Nurse Joy from yesterday. "I know you're there, open up, for fuck's sake!"

Gold inches closer to the door. Silver is unsure whether to follow him or not.

"Are you alone?"

Outside Joy makes a frustrated noise. "Yes, for crying out loud. How much longer do you dipshits want to make me wait?"

Silver files away the mental note to never get on  _that_  guy's nerves.

Abruptly, Gold pulls the door open and aims.

"What the hell," Joy shrieks. Silver concurs.

Scanning the backyard, Gold pulls Joy inside and shuts the door. He locks his gun and gives the two of them a flat look. "Why are you so surprised? My best friend is injured, the only backup I have is inexperienced and, frankly, untalented, and an entire mafia organization is out for my ass. If I don't assume everybody outside of this house is lying, I'm dead."

Joy clicks his tongue and shrugs. "Whatever, I'll go check up on Crys,  _if you don't mind_."

"Just go," Gold says irritably. When Joy's gone, he finally takes note of Silver's quiet. "You look like you're about to bitch at me again."

Silver snarls. "Yes, I am," he shouts, hand shaking around the handle of his weapon. He realizes he hasn't put up the safety yet. Once he's done so, he drops the gun, feeling slightly more comfortable, and starts to cry. It's pathetic and mortifying, but he can't help it. He hates having to know how to use a firearm. He hates that people are getting hurt because of him. He hates that his father is putting him through this. He's trying to be tough and callous, but it's hard when you're still just a teenager and you live with the feeling that the whole world is trying to hunt you down.

"Whoa, okay," Gold says, eyes wide, and actually backs away a bit. "What is going on?"

" _You_ ," Silver bawls, and it feels good. It feels like he's uncaging the words from a long period of imprisonment. "You keep treating me like a child even though you're barely older than me. You think you're so much better than everyone else just because you're a master of bullshitting yourself through things. One second you act like a total dick, and the next you're nice to me, and I — _I don't get it_. What's your problem with me?"

 

x

 

This is it. This is the part where it's all going to blow up in his face, as usual.

Gold sets down his gun. He doesn't want to have this conversation armed. He swallows. "I like you," he says.

Silver flinches as if the confession had a physical impact on him, but he isn't crying anymore. Gold takes what he can get.

"What?"

"I like you," Gold says again. It's strange to own up to it. It's not the first time he has said it, but he's never meant it before. He hasn't imagined he ever would.

"You're lying," Silver accuses.

Gold can't really blame him for it, considering how little they know one another. But Gold has never taken long to figure out what he wants, and when he wants something, he goes all out.

"No, I'm not."

"But —" Silver's breath hitches. "— you always do."

Oh.

 _Oh_ , Gold marvels at the pain in his chest.  _So that's what heartbreak is like._

For a long moment, he can't say anything. His insides feel like they're being wrung out. He would laugh at his own wretchedness if it didn't hurt so much. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he laughs at himself for calling Silver the angsty one.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually. "I'm sorry you think so, and, well, I can't really hold it against you. I do lie a shit ton, but I'm not lying now. I know I can't prove it to you. That's okay. I deserve this."

"Are you serious?" Silver stares at him in disbelief. "You've been a complete ass to me."

"I am aware!" Gold explodes. "That was kind of the point!"

"I — what."

Rubbing at his temples, Gold paces back and forth. Suddenly, he's lacking words. That's certainly a first.

"I didn't know how to handle this any other way, so I just decided I might as well go along with the pigtail shtick."

"'Pigtail shtick'?" Silver asks cautiously.

"You know," Gold says. "The whole cliché that boys pick on the girls they like. Pulling their pigtails. You  _know_."

"I'm not a girl," says Silver because, how could Gold forget, he's an emotionally challenged knucklehead whose childhood probably revolved around trying to learn how to be evil and developing daddy issues. Gold is mildly impressed he hasn't become a psychopath like Giovanni.

Nevertheless.

"So you thought I hated you?  _I cried in front of you_!"

"Yes, because that's obviously part of common courtship," Silver shoots back, and wow, he's gotten good at this fast. Gold probably shouldn't think that's hot, but he finds he doesn't really mind.

"Okay," he says, patience run dry (and also kind of turned on). "I fucked up, okay, fine. Are you going to kiss me or not?"

Silver flushes, and shit, scratch hot and make that  _scorching_. That's what the inside of Gold's pants feels like, in any case.

"I don't even like you," Silver hedges, not meeting Gold's eyes.

Gold steps closer to him, tilting his head. "No?" he inquires innocently. Bending forward, he whispers into Silver's ear, "Are you sure?"

Silver goes rigid but not in the way Gold planned.

"I'm afraid," he says. "I want to believe you, but I'm afraid."

Gold moves backwards so he's facing Silver, noses brushing. "You're killing the mood." He sighs. "I can't promise this is going to be good. Then I  _would_  be lying. I can only promise to make it worth your while. I've no experience in — feelings, but neither have you, so we're on even grounds here. We'll both be equally bad at it, so what the heck, just going for it won't hurt us." He hesitates. "Much."

Silver laughs, voice warm and  _familiar_. How did that even happen? How did this broody guy from Team Rocket push himself beyond Gold's emotional comfort zone throughout the course of a few days? It scares him, but the thrill of his fear only edges him on further. Huh. Maybe he's more fucked up than he thought.

"Very reassuring," Silver says, grins, and Gold is struck with an epiphany.

He's shaking, damn it, he's  _shaking_ , as he places his hand on Silver's back and pulls him closer. Silver is still grinning, cheeks reddening, and Gold kisses him.

 

x

 

_I will never want anyone as much as you._


	4. The Executive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold whips around and freezes. Even though he's never seen pictures or met him in person, he recognizes Archer right away.
> 
> "What a boring finale to such an exciting chase," he chuckles. Two Rocket grunts tower next to him on each side, heavily armed and eyes narrowed.
> 
> Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will you forgive me for taking so long if I say that the next installment will be the last?

As far as kisses go, it's not the best Gold has ever had. The whole affair is pretty uncoordinated and shy — bafflingly, not just on Silver's part. The intensity of his own desire, his own  _feelings_ , scares the hell out of Gold, and he really, really hopes it's only his hormones because everything else would just be embarrassing. Then again, it sort of figures, doesn't it? He always condemned romantic affection, and now he falls in love with someone who may actually be even more emotionally stunted than he is.

He draws away to breathe and take in Silver's face: skin blazing, pupils blown, lips red and quivering.

Gold will  _combust_  if Silver keeps this up.

"Wow," it comes from the stairs. "You are actually doing this right now."

Gold turns around. "Oh,  _Joy_."

Nurse Joy descends the last couple of steps and frowns at them both. "Seriously? Crys is working up there,  _wounded_ , and you're — making out?"

Gold sneers. Next to him, Silver scowls. Gold is starting to wonder if this is his default reaction to anything.

"That's none of your business," he says.

Joy clicks his tongue.

Gold bites the inside of his mouth. "How's it look?"

"Like she got mauled by an ursaring, and she doesn't even  _care_ ," Joy says brusquely. "No surprises there, though. You know Crys, she's got thick skin and an even thicker head."

"Good," Gold sighs, relieved. "Thank you."

Joy's brows rise almost all the way up to his hairline. "No, it's not good. You and her, you're both going to die because of your crush on Prince Rocket here, and what are you doing about it? Nothing!  _Nada_! Why aren't you getting the fuck out of here?"

"And what good would that do?" Gold scoffs. "They'll find us no matter where we hide! They're not going to let Silver go."

"Then ditch him!"

Gold clenches his hands into fists. Heat sloshes up his chest, angry and hot and foreign. "I can't just leave him here to die. I won't."

"Aren't you a big damn hero," Joy says and steers towards the exit. "You're going to get yourself killed just because you can't tell your heart apart from your dick."

He shakes his head and leaves. Gold half-expected him to slam the door as an extra dramatic gesture, but Joy shuts it quietly, gingerly, as if not to attract any more attention.

Groaning, Gold runs his fingers through his hair. "So," he says sheepishly. "That went well."

Silver makes a face like he's just declared he'll parade the streets naked.

"What?"

"He's right."

" _What_?"

Silver casts him a look that says, "Drop the act". It reminds Gold of himself. He opens his mouth for derisive laughter, but it sounds more like the cough of one of those old steam engines in Anville Town.

"What, you gonna chicken out? Pretend nothing happened?"

Silver's lower lip begins to quiver. Rage? Fear? Gold searches his eyes for an answer and comes up blank.

"I need a drink," he announces.

He makes for the bar and rummages in the cupboards behind the counter until he finds what he's been looking for: Original Viridian Single Malt, Extra Strong. A good one, potent and sharp, almost only alcohol, and one of the few of the old man's liquors left. (He bequeathed one half of them to Gold; the other was buried with him.)

Gold pours himself a glass and chucks it. It blazes down his throat, festering until it feels like his entire torso is on fire, and fades entirely too fast.

It's ironic. The one time he actually has the courage to admit his feelings, and there is no space for them. He should have known better. He _knows_ better. Moving fast is only worth it as long as the stakes involved don't climb higher than the prize. He hurt Crys for this, for _him_. How could he ever have believed that would constitute an equal trade? He's an even worse person than he has ever assumed. Quite the accomplishment, isn't it?

From the corridor, Silver calls his name. Again, closer this time. He emerges from the door, halting at the edge of the counter. "Gold, I … we might be about to  _die_. Joy is right. Crystal is hurt because of me. You want to help her, too, don't you?"

Gold hoists another glass. This one goes straight to his head. Faintly, he registers how his brain slows down, thoughts passing him by like currents of a river, too fast and slippery to grasp.

Silver takes another couple of steps towards him. "Right now isn't the time. We're not thinking clearly," he finishes, eying the bottle warily.

"Of course not!" Gold fires. "That's the whole point!"

Silver scrunches up his nose, and Gold wants to kiss every crease of skin. He takes another drink.

"The whole point of what?" Silver says dubiously.

"Of dying!" Gold hollers, banging his glass on the counter. "Of living! If we're about to die, then shouldn't we make the most of it now?"

"Ah," Silver says tonelessly, gaping at Gold's hands clutching his glass. "You're drunk. There's a gang war in the making, and we're both under a lot of pressure. This isn't the right time. When everything is over and we're still alive at the end, we can talk about it, maybe reset the whole thing."

Gold lets go of his glass. "What you're telling me is that I don't know what I'm feeling but you do."

Silver grinds his teeth. "You're  _drunk_."

 _That's it_ , Gold thinks. Rounding the counter, he marches to the front door.

"Hey, what —"

"I'm getting out of here."

"You idiot, do you actually  _want_  to die?"

"So what?" Gold snaps. "'S not like it matters to you!"

"Oh, no. No, we are not doing this. Come back in —"

Gold's hand moves before he comprehends what he's doing, and then his fist collides with Silver's right eye. Silver stumbles backwards, palming his face, until his back hits the counter. His unharmed eye stares at Gold, unblinking.

Shame wells up inside Gold. He wants to puke, he wants to claw his own guts out, he —  _he just punched Silver_. He just punched a person who did nothing to deserve it.

 _I knew it_ , he thinks.  _I'm a ticking time bomb._

"I'm sorry," he says and starts to run.

 

x

 

"Whoa, what happened to you?" Crystal cranes her neck and squints at him. "Your eye looks nasty. Did you have a fight down there? I heard shouting."

Silver crumbles down into the chair beside her bed. "Gold told me he loved me. I think."

"Excuse me?"

"Joy got angry at us for — for getting sidetracked and left. I agreed with him and told Gold that we don't have time for anything else right now. He started drinking, we argued, he hit me and ran away." He stares at his hands in his lap, limp and useless. "Archer will find him. Gold doesn't have anything to defend himself with. You're injured, I have no experience, and neither of us knows where Gold is now. It's over."

Crystal puts a hand on his shoulder, not looking at him. "No, it's not. Joy brought me a stash of painkillers — the good ones. I'll be able to move within the next two hours. With a bit of luck Team Rocket won't get to Gold until then so we can prepare ourselves."

"Prepare?"

She jerks her head in affirmation. "They'll use him as a hostage or as bait. Either way we'll have some visitors soon."

Silver balls his hands into fists. "This is all my fault."

"Stop that," Crystal says. "I did all of this of my own volition. I could have refused, but I didn't. The same applies to Gold. We're all to blame."

"You're so calm and collected," Silver says in admiration.

Crystal laughs weakly. "That just proves that you haven't a clue about me yet."

Silver can't help but gawk at the "yet".

 

x

 

After a few blocks, Gold stops, slumping forward against the wall of an apartment building, and presses his forehead against the sobering coolness of the bricks.

There is no excuse for what he just did, not even a proper explanation. To be honest, though, he isn't really surprised; that part of him is old news. He's always been a dumbass, picking fights with the wrong people while wrecking the right. Up until now he only ever regretted it this much when it involved his mother or Crystal. He thought it would stay that way.

"How disappointing," someone says behind him.

Gold whips around and freezes. Even though he's never seen pictures or met him in person, he recognizes Archer right away.

"What a boring finale to such an exciting chase." He chuckles. Two Rocket grunts tower next to him on each side, heavily armed and eyes narrowed.

Shit.

 

x

 

Silver and Crystal build a barricade in front of the bar counter with all the furniture they can carry — or as much of a barricade as you can at such short notice —, lug two machine guns and several loads of ammunition downstairs, and wait for a sign of Gold or Team Rocket.

Time crawls by at excruciating speed, and Silver is going to implode if something doesn't happen soon. He glances at Crystal worrying her lip, eyes fixed on the front door. He proposed splitting up so they could guard both entryways, but Crystal rejected that immediately.

"You of all people should know that Archer loves flashy entrances," she said. "Even if some of them did come through the back door, we'd still be at an advantage because we can see them from here but they can't see us." So that was that.

 

x

 

"Now, Gold." Shutting the door behind himself, Archer sits down beside him in the van. His cronies are keeping watch outside beyond the tinted windows, guns cocked. "Tell me, what did your girlfriend want in one of our offices?"

Gold works his jaw. "Crys is my partner, not my girlfriend."

"Ah, yes, I forgot. That position has recently been occupied otherwise, hasn't it?" Leaning back against the black leather seat, he folds his hands above his crossed legs. "Allow me to correct myself: what did your _partner_  want in one of our offices? I thought we had an agreement not to disturb one another's privacy."

In an attempt to appear unimpressed, Gold raises an eyebrow. "This is the first time I've ever heard of that. Are you getting senile, old man?"

Archer smirks as though he's found what he's been looking for. "If you don't want to answer, it must be a secret. A secret you value more than your own life, it seems. Intriguing."

At Archer's light tone, something cold runs down Gold's spine. "What are you planning to do now?" he inquires with feigned nonchalance. "Kill me? Blow me up along with my house and employee? Surely, you're not gonna keep me in here forever."

Archer's eyes go wide and manic. "As fun as that would be, you are correct, I will not. Instead I'm going to take you on a little trip." Opening the door a crack, he commands, "Start the car. You know where to."

 

x

 

Two hours and a half have gone by when, finally, a handful of tall, brawny men push through the entrance of The Hatcher, equipped with firearms, followed by Archer and a handcuffed Gold.

Silver's fingers twitch nervously around the trigger of his gun. Crystal puts her hand over his to still it and motions him to be quiet.

"Cute," Archer comments as he surveys the makeshift barricade. "You know, I really appreciate hard work like this. It reminds me of your father, Silver."

Silver stiffens, hand going rigid in Crystal's.

Archer moans with mock chagrin. "Nothing to that? I hoped you would show me some more of your rebellious bravado, I find it absolutely delightful."

Glancing over to Gold, head hung low in shame, Silver says, "What do you want?"

Archer smiles and shoves Gold in their direction. "I believe I have something you'd like back. By the way, very clever to use these two, Silver. Very clever and yet so very disappointing. I even gave you time to come up with a plot, but all you three did was wait." Yanking Gold up by the collar, he forces him to face forward. He looks devastated. "I  _detest_  waiting. Don't you?"

Silver feels like he's been socked in the chest, all air escaping from his lungs. Judging by her horrified expression, Crystal isn't much better.

Archer merely played with them all this time. They never had a chance.

Silver swallows and tries to breathe. "What do you want?" he repeats.

Archer's smile vanishes. "Drop your weapons and come out with your hands where I can see them."

Crystal's shoulders tense. "Then what? Are you going to kill us?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Archer says, tightening his hold on Gold's neck.

Turning to Silver, she whispers, "Do you have your pokémon with you?"

"Yes," he replies, nonplussed.

"A flying type, too?"

Silver nods.

"Good." She gets into shooting position. "Run."

" _What_ —"

She swats her hand at him to shut him up. "They won't kill us before they've got you. Now go, I don't want this all to be for nothing."

So Silver goes.


	5. The Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fuck this_ , he thinks. _Fuck all of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again. Traitor's back, tell a friend.
> 
> No, you are not hallucinating. The update is real. It's actually happening. This is not a drill, folks!
> 
> Anyway, I think I've reached a point where it's become moot for me to apologize. I'm terrible at this. We all know it. Let's just be glad this is finally coming to an end.
> 
> PS: I edited the previous chapters and rewrote some parts. Nothing really plot-altering, but it still might be worth checking out.

As he scurries back into the hallway, Silver is hit by a foreign kind of resolve. _Fuck this_ , he thinks. _Fuck all of it._ From now on he’ll do things his own way.

 

He runs upstairs, wrenches the nearest window open and releases Honchkrow from his poké ball. Silver tells him to carry him to the sidewalk in front of the bar, as quietly as feasible. A little bemused, Honchkrow does as he’s told. They land behind the huge black car Archer and his entourage arrived in. Murmuring a quick, “thanks,” Silver calls Honchkrow back and grabs for another poké ball. Beedrill emerges from it, almost even more menacing than he remembers her. He caught her only a few weeks prior to his return to Viridian City, so he’s still not entirely familiar with her, but he hopes this is going to work regardless.

 

“Fly in there and knock the guys in the funny suits out with Stun Spore,” he says, gesturing at the open entrance of The Hatcher.

 

Wasting no time, Beedrill dashes forward and into the bar and shoots a huge salve of Stun Spore at the startled members of Team Rocket. Silver watches them drop nearly instantly. Unfortunately, Gold does as well.

 

Once the majority of the spores has dissipated, Silver abandons his hiding spot and follows Beedrill inside.

 

“You little—“ Archer is hissing at him from the ground, attempting to fight the attack.

 

Silver ignores him. “Tie them up with String Shot,” he says to Beedrill, who obliges without fuss. Relief washes over him. He makes the mental note to reward her with a bowl of her favorite snacks, as soon as he has the time, and lets her retire to her poké ball.

 

“Silver?” Crystal calls from beyond the barricade. “What are you doing?”

 

“The right thing,” he answers, slinging Gold’s arm over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

 

Brows furrowed with bewilderment, Crystal climbs across the blockade in front of the counter and boggles at the scene before her.

 

“Silver, I—“

 

He stands up, straining a little under the dead weight of Gold’s body, and heads towards the door. “We can talk later,” he says.

 

Casting the unconscious Team Rocket members spread over the floor a last glance, Crystal follows him outside. “Where to?”

 

Silver bites his lip. “The three of us are too heavy for Honchkrow.”

 

In that instant Gold stirs in his hold. “I…have ‘n idea.”

 

x

 

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Crystal declares, steering Archer’s van around another corner. “And that’s a real feat, considering all the shit you’ve pulled in the past.”

 

Gold’s face splits into a shit-eating grin despite the lingering effects of Beedrill’s Stun Spore. “Thanks.”

 

“I don’t think it was a compliment,” Silver says.

 

“C’mon,” Gold says. “How is blackmail not a solid plan?”

 

“If we die because of this, I’m going to haunt you,” Crystal promises.

 

The car veers to the right and pulls into the driveway of a large, worn-looking warehouse, the guise of Team Rocket’s headquarters.

 

“Can ghosts haunt each other?”

 

Crystal’s grip around the steering wheel tightens. “I’m definitely willing to try.”

 

Silver gazes out the window at the familiar silhouette of brick and cracked concrete coming into view, looming above them like a foreboding shadow. He’s been here just a few days ago, but it feels so much longer than that, so different. (Maybe because _he_ ’s changed since then. Or is that just wishful thinking?)

 

He looks over at Gold, who’s rubbing his cheeks to get some sensation back. Gold, who’s both the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

Gold stills his hands and turns to meet Silver’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.

 

Silver knows that. He’s sorry, too, for a lot of things. He directs his attention back to the building towering in front of them. They don’t have time for this.

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

Gold doesn’t respond. He’s taking that as a yes.

 

In the driver’s seat, Crystal pops another dose of painkillers. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” she says and jumps out of the car.

 

x

 

They open the trunk and haul a bound and gagged Archer out of it, all the while at least one of them is holding a gun to his head. He glares at the three of them with open hatred.

 

Silver closes the trunk and takes the lead. Gold and Crystal trail behind him, dragging Archer along with them.

 

At first glance the inside of the warehouse appears to match its bland run-down exterior, but the well-maintained elevators and LED lights tell a different story. There is no one else in sight, on this level at least. He pushes the up button of the elevator and hopes it will stay that way until they’ve gotten to his father’s office.

 

They ride the elevator all the way up to the highest floor, number ten. When the doors slide open, they’re greeted by the remaining Team Rocket Executives Ariana, Petrel and Proton.

 

“We have your leader,” Silver says before any of them can do or say anything themselves. “I imagine you want him back unharmed, so step back and do exactly as we say.”

 

To his surprise, the three obey without a single word of objection.

 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” is all Ariana says before all of them move aside to let the intruders through.

 

Silver eyes them suspiciously as he makes his way down the hallway to the tall door leading to Giovanni’s office.

 

“What’s going on here?” Crystal whispers, eyes flitting back and forth between the three and Silver.

 

Silver punches the entrance code into the small panel next to the door and waits for it to unlock. He feels Ariana and the others boring holes into him with their impassive stares. _We’ve been waiting for you._

 

“I have no idea.”

 

x

 

Silver doesn’t have many positive memories left of his father. Most of them have been lost over time, swallowed by tarnishes of days alone in their apartment or distorted by the innumerable arguments that eventually drove Silver as far away from home as his feet would take him. For some reason Giovanni indulged him, let him. To this day, Silver can’t imagine why.

 

Only one truly good memory has survived, and Silver doesn’t quite know what to do with it. It sits in the back of his mind, persistent but useless. What does one good deed amount to, stacked against years of crime and evil?

 

x

 

“You failed me, son.”

 

Silver sucks in a tattered breath, but his lungs don’t comply.

 

From the huge leather armchair behind the mahogany desk, Giovanni is leveling an unrelenting, unfeeling look at his son. His chin is propped on his folded hands. He’s clad in an impeccably tailored dark suit. As always his hair has been slicked back, all strands in line. There isn’t a single scratch on him.

 

“Father,” Silver breathes, chest contracting. “You’re alive.”

 

Next to him, Crystal and Gold gasp.

 

Giovanni snorts and leans back, unfolding his hands. With his broad shoulders, he has no problem filling the chair’s frame. “Did you really think I would die just like that?”

 

Silver’s legs tremble, though he wills himself to keep standing. “But—I saw you—”

 

“I expected more of you,” Giovanni says over him. “It should have been so easy. Just take out one small rival business. You couldn’t even accomplish that much.” He spits at the ground. “My own flesh and blood.”

 

Overcome by a torrent of nausea, Silver’s throat closes up. His eyes are pricking, fighting against the tears. Why does this always end up happening? What’s the point of crying, anyway? It’s one of the most superfluous physiological mechanisms of the human body. There is no logical relation between ocular lubrication and—and feeling like this, like the world itself is about to cave in on itself.

 

Gold takes a step forward and positions himself between Silver and his father. “You mean, you orchestrated all of this just to _test_ him?” he shouts.

 

“You must be Gold,” Giovanni says, scrutinizing him. “ _You_ caused my son to betray his family?”

 

“Family?” Gold echoes incredulously. His shoulders hunch, his back tenses. He looks like he’ll strike at the man any moment.

 

Crystal places a placating hand on his neck although she looks just as furious as Gold does.

 

“We came here to exchange Archer for our freedom,” Silver says. Wayward tears fog his vision and blur his father into an unrecognizable, swirling mess before his yes. He blinks, spilling the tears down his cheeks. All at once everything becomes clear.

 

x

 

The memory is more than a decade old, already nothing more than a sepia-tinted scrap that’s fading at the edges.

 

He’s six years old and barely reaches the top drawer of his father’s desk. He has snuck inside the office to hide from his teachers. His father isn’t there, the room is all his to explore. On one of the shelves, he discovers a photo album. There are pictures of his father in it. He looks younger, and he smiles in nearly all of them. Silver has never seen him smile like that before. In every image a woman stands beside Giovanni. She seems familiar even though Silver is sure this is the first time he’s seen her.

 

Then the door opens, and his father enters the room. His gaze immediately finds Silver, crouched in a corner with the album in his lap. Terrified, Silver shrinks into himself. He isn’t allowed in here. Giovanni comes closer and slants a glance at the pictures on the open pages.

 

His mouth twitches. “You look just like her,” he says and ruffles Silver’s hair.

 

Here the memory shears off, fraying into fragments that don’t fit together anymore. Years pass until Silver has grasped who the woman is. By the time he’s figured it out, it’s too late to ask his father about it. Giovanni no longer shares any resemblance with the man in the photos.

 

x

 

Giovanni laughs, a terrible piercing sound that cuts through the air like a knife. “That’s your plan?”

 

Silver approaches the desk and carefully places his gun on top of it. Behind him Crystal and Gold break out into a slight commotion.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

“It was,” Silver says to his father and forces himself to look straight ahead, wiping the last of his tears away. “I’m surrendering myself to you. Let them go.”

 

For a long minute, Giovanni’s waning laughter is the only sound in the room. Finally, he says, “Do you think you’re important enough for that?”

 

A silly question.

 

“What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh. You taught me that.”

 

“Sometimes the flesh is rotten.” His father cocks his head. “Sometimes it needs to be cut off.”

 

Silver refuses to back down. “What happens to the bone without it?”

 

Again Giovanni doesn’t reply right away. “So you’d give yourself up in order to save these two?”

 

Gold grabs Silver’s shoulder and whips him around, face twisted into a grimace of worry and regret. “Don’t do it! This isn’t what we came for!” he yells and shakes him a little.

 

But Silver won’t budge, neither for his father nor for Gold. He’ll do things his own way. “I dragged you and Crystal into this,” he says, “so I’ll pull you out, too.”

 

“I haven’t agreed yet,” Giovanni interjects. Gold and Silver jerk around to look at him. There’s an ominous glint in his eyes. “This is the first time you’re not running away.”

 

“This isn’t something I can run away from,” Silver says, concentrating on the grounding warmth of Gold’s hand that’s still lying on his shoulder.

 

Giovanni sighs. There are lines etched into his forehead that Silver doesn’t remember seeing before. It occurs to him that he’s forgotten how old his father actually is.

 

“Your mother,” Giovanni says and halts, pursing his lips. Something in Silver’s chest shatters. “She told me this would happen. Before you were even born, she said she knew you were destined for something else. I didn’t want to believe her, but it looks like she was right.”

 

“What—what do you mean?”

 

“I think it’s time you met your grandparents. They run a pokémon daycare on Route 5 near Cerulean City.”

 

Before Silver has a chance to process that, a sudden burst of movement breaks out behind him. He swivels around just in time to see Archer, who’s freed himself somehow, removing the duct tape from his mouth.

 

“Sir,” he implores, staggering forward, “but the plan! Y-you cannot be serious!”

 

Giovanni rises from seat, leisurely rounding the table to glare down at his subordinate, and says, “I am quite serious.”

 

Archer, looking aghast, turns to fix Silver with a venomous glare. “This is all your fault!” he snarls. “Just because you were too much of a coward to fulfill your duty!”

 

Then several things happen at once. In one fluid motion, Archer lunges forward, swinging at Silver with a knife he must have kept hidden from view until now. That way he probably got rid of his bonds, Silver notes absentmindedly, too shocked to move. At the same time, Gold throws himself between Silver and his assailant, but before Archer’s blow can connect, he’s shoved out of the way, crashing into Silver. Both topple to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs.

 

Somewhere above them someone chokes out a pained cry, followed by the dull thud of something hitting the floor. Then deafening silence.

 

Unraveling his body from Gold’s, Silver sits up to see what happened. The sight before him knocks the air from his chest.

 

Giovanni is lying there, mere inches away from him, lifeless. Blood is seeping into his expensive suit around the knife stuck in his heart.

 

x

 

These are the facts: Giovanni is dead. Team Rocket needs a new boss. Silver is Giovanni's offspring, and as such, his future offers no other prospects than to follow his father's footsteps as the leader of one of the largest syndicates in the pokémon mafia. Or so he used to believe.

 

x

 

Silver inhales sharply and watches the casket disappear in the earth. He doesn’t know what to make of his father’s second death or his abrupt swerve in attitude just beforehand. Had he really meant what he’d said about his mother, about _him_? Or had it been another subterfuge? Where is the moral of the story?

There is no way of knowing now. It’s aggravating. Doesn’t he deserve answers? Doesn’t he deserve closure? How typical of his father to deny him the easy way to the solution.

 

 


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING FINALLY.

Autumn has found its way to Johto once again, leaving golden showers of leaves and silver showers of rain in its wake. Gold is staring out the window of the daycare on Route 34 at the pokémon playing in the foliage when Silver shuffles into the living room, carrying two steaming mugs on a tray. He hands Gold one of them and sets the tray on the couch table.

 

“It's still funny to me how both of our grandparents own a daycare,” Gold says, blowing on the tea before taking a sip.

 

“We have more in common than I thought,” Silver agrees.

 

After a moment of quiet, Gold says, “I got mail from Crys.”

 

Silver grins. “The new uniforms?”

 

“They’re even uglier than the original ones.” Gold shakes his head and snorts. “Which is kind of a feat of its own, granted.”

 

Silver tries to picture that. “Don’t show me,” he decides. “Reality is always worse than what imagination could ever come up with.”

 

“Very wise.”

 

Another moment passes while they enjoy their tea in silence.

 

“We should go visit her sometime,” Silver says.

 

Gold snorts again. “She’d just yell at us for disturbing her during work.”

 

“Isn’t that the point?” Silver asks playfully.

 

He’s a lot more comfortable joking these days. Gold can’t claim he doesn’t like that.

 

He laughs and puts his mug back on the tray. “Only if you want a bullet hole in your stomach.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Silver settles against the backrest of the sofa. “Father would have been proud of her,” he says. “She’s a way better mafia boss than I ever would have been.”

 

“Is this the part where you angst about how Daddy didn’t love you enough?” Gold says, earning him a kick in the shin.

 

“Hilarious,” Silver says tartly. “You should do comedy.”

 

“What do you want me to say? Your dad was fucked up. I have no idea what he would’ve thought of her, though I agree, she _is_ way better at it than you ever were.”

 

Silver flicks his ear, one of the tricks he’s picked up from the girl in question, unfortunately. “You can’t comfort people for shit,” he says. “And I didn’t even want you to do that. It’s just… I need to talk about it all sometimes. Don’t you?”

 

Gold shrugs noncommittally. He isn’t used to solving his problems verbally yet. Sometimes it annoys him a little that Silver has gotten so much better at it already.

 

Surprisingly, Silver smiles. (He’s become a lot more comfortable doing that, too.)

 

“You’re still a dick, but I’m glad you are here now, with me,” he says and kisses the frown from Gold’s face.

 

Gold doesn’t disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably be ashamed that despite the length of the fic and the ludicrous amount of time I spent ~~not~~ writing it, the actual story takes place within the span of like three days and sort of ends up relatively exactly where it started. But I'm just so glad to be done. All my love to everyone who's stuck around in spite of my massive fail!  <3 <3 <3


End file.
